


Double Dare

by TheBohemian



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Language, Falling In Love, Humor, M/M, Rating has Potential To Change, Slow Build, if you use the term enemies loosely they just don't like each other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-02-01 08:59:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12701622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBohemian/pseuds/TheBohemian
Summary: You meet the most interesting people when you kick in bathroom stalls. It's not a motto that Lance ever thought he'd live by, but, Jesus, does this exact situation land him in a pickle. After following through on a dare to kick in a bathroom stall, Lance accidentally turns his own life upside down when he comes face to face with the most intimidating mystery boy in school having a good old fashioned cry. Lance desperately wants to believe they can leave that event behind them and never speak again, but, because the universe hates him, he finds they're partners in their new Chemistry class. A bad first impression has never been quite so difficult to recover from.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I literally got this plot from an Onion headline, so I wouldn't expect too much out of it if I were you. I've always wanted to write Klance but never got brave enough to do it. Here goes nothing?
> 
> Edit: The headline is from 10/22/2013 and reads "You Meet The Most Interesting People Kicking Open Random Bathroom Stalls"

From a young age, Lance McClain has been planning for an early death. Not because he seeks it, but because he’s an idiot. Every day he tells himself he’ll make good decisions, and every day he lets himself down.

Today is no different. 

“Lance, it’s just one stall. Walk in that bathroom like you own it, kick a stall in, say hello, and then run away.”

“This is your dumbest dare yet,” Lance protests, arms crossed and rocking back onto his heels. 

“Is it?” Pidge asks, eyes squinted behind massive glasses frames. “Because this is the only one you’ve ever protested. You agreed to lick Hunk’s feet faster than you’ve agreed to this.”

“Hunk has very good hygiene,” Lance protests, resolve withering.

“Be that as it may, you still don’t have room to say this is a stupid dare. You can just say you’re scared, you know.” She sighs through her nose and falls back against the nearest wall. “No shame.”

“You radiate shame.”

“No, Lance. That’s you. Don’t pin the smell of chicken in the air on me.”

“Not a chicken.”

“All those un-kicked stalls say otherwise. I’m just saying that if you don’t do this dare you lose a three-year-long game. Can you handle the bitter taste of that much defeat?” 

“Fine!” He throws his hands in the air and pushes himself into motion, slow as it may be. His pride and competitive tendencies have never done him any favors. “Fine, okay? I’ll do it.”

“I knew you’d see it my way.” Her smile is smug, and Lance rolls his eyes hard enough that it almost feels like he sprains a cornea. 

“That’s because you’re a know-it-all,” Lance replies. He makes a point to shove the bathroom door open with more violence than is necessary. 

“You got me.”

Her retort is clipped by the door slamming closed, but Lance hears her well enough to feel the need to roll his eyes again. 

 

“Okay, Lance,” he mutters to himself, shuffling his feet along the grubby tile floor. As far as he can see, every stall lacks an occupant. There are no feet to be seen and all the stall doors are cracked if not wide open. “Okay, game plan: kick a door, think of a lie, get Pidge off your back. Easy peasy.”

Hands in coat pockets, Lance paces the row of stalls one more time before locking his eyes on his door of choice. “Alright, let’s see who’s behind door number three, shall we?”

As a man with a penchant for dramatic flare, Lance gets a running start, and the kick he conjures up is solid. The metal rattles and ricochets off the inside of the stall. The cover falls from the tissue dispenser, and a roll of toilet paper makes a bumpy journey towards the row of sinks. 

“Alright, cool,” Lance says while readjusting his jacket and taking a moment to appreciate his handiwork. What he expects to see is nothing at all. What he actually gets is an eyeful of the school’s favorite badass mystery boy holding his knees to his chest and staring at him with bloodshot saucer eyes. 

To say that Lance is stunned speechless would be a massive understatement. And, judging by the way Keith sits, motionless and unashamed in his gawking, Lance feels it’s fair to say the same sentiment reaches him as well. 

Lance has heard that, as means of self-preservation, humans are born with the natural reaction of fight or flight. He thinks that basic principle skipped him in his developmental stages because his reaction to anything mildly startling is to fight head on. This is no different.

After kicking a bathroom stall open on a clearly upset boy, a normal teenager would apologize and run away. Lance? He puts his fists up and bounces his weight between his feet. Ordinarily, this would be ridiculous. But, Lance has heard one too many rumors centered around Keith and crime. It would be silly to let his guard down now.

“What are you doing?” Keith hisses, unhooking an arm from around his legs to motion at the door. “Just close the door.” His throat scratches enough that it hurts just listening to it, and his voice sounds raw and desperate.

“Uh, I- I mean right. Can do, buddy.” Lance steps forward, reaches behind himself, and slams the door closed. Both of them wince. 

Keith, with eyes drained of life, looks up at him. His jaw clenches and his teeth grate together. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what’s bothering him, and Lance understands with relative quickness that closing himself in the stall was not, at all, what either of them had wanted. 

“I fucked up,” Lance announces. His palms begin to sweat. “I know I fucked up and I never want to talk about this. Ever.”

“I’m glad I’m not the only one feeling that way,” Keith says. Though his tone is even, Lance can easily see the venom dripping off his words.

“Are you okay though?” Lance asks despite the fear tightening his chest. He can’t bear to see anyone look that sad and doesn’t see how anyone could. Clearing his throat, Lance rests a hand on what remains of the tissue dispenser and maintains painfully awkward eye contact. “You seem kinda down.”

If looks could kill, Lance would’ve been 6 feet under 2 minutes ago. The glare he receives now would raise him from the dead just to kill him again with additional pain. 

“I’m fine, Dr. Phil.”

“Dude. Come on.”

“I’m fine, okay? I’m fine. Just get out. It’s none of your business. Leave.”

“I’m just trying to help, man. You just-“ A loud crack pierces his sentence. Keith’s deadly glare turns more wide-eyed with confusion. Lance feels the dispenser give way but not before he can take his weight off of it. 

As if in slow motion, it disconnects from the wall and hurdles to the ground taking Lance with it. The thing about bathroom stalls is that they aren’t roomy and certainly aren't meant to comfortably occupy two people. Lance has no place to go aside from headfirst into Keith’s lap. Both of them let out disgruntled screams as Keith is shoved off his porcelain throne and they both lay in a heap on the floor. 

Lance has every intention to apologize, but Keith doesn’t give him the chance. “I’m going to go ahead and let you know that this is the last time I’m going to tell you to get the _fuck out_.”

“Okay, yeah that’s my cue to leave. I’m Lance. I’m leaving. I’m Lance and I’m leaving right now. And I’m also sorry. Get well soon.” Lance jabs a thumb in the direction of the door in a robotic, jerking motion. Keith watches him warily as he struggles to wiggle his way under the gap between the floor and stall door. As he makes his way to freedom the unlatched door follows him. By the time he clamors to an upright potion, the stall is wide open. 

Lance hears a baritone groan over the clumsy tapping of his own feet carrying him back outside. Pidge waits for him, tapping on her phone and blissfully unaware of the shit show that just went down. 

“Well?”

“We have to go,” Lance says, dragging her away by the arm. “Now.”

“What?” She laughs as she allows herself to be dragged down empty hallways. 

“You know how I said I wanted you to preach at my funeral?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah, well now might be a good time to prepare that sermon.”

“Oh my God.” Pidge says and has the audacity to sound excited. “Tell me everything.”

 

Lance is mere seconds away from calling an ambulance by the time Pidge stops laughing. She’s blue in the face and her tear streaked cheeks are rubbed raw from the number of times she’s swiped her face with the backs of her hands. 

“Say it again,” she coughs, hand on stomach, “from the top. You jumped a man on the toilet?” Her lip trembles and she sucks it between her teeth to keep from laughing again.

“Not just any man. He jumped _Keith_ on the toilet,” Hunk says from where he lounges on Lance’s bed. A book covers his face, but it’s easy to see the amused grin he’s wearing. 

Pidge snorts and doubles over in howling laughter while Lance buries his face in the carpet. 

“Ah, come on Lance,” Hunk says with a soft voice and the best of intentions, “it could’ve been worse, right? He could’ve been sans-pants. Wait.” His dramatic pause punctuates his horror. “He did have pants on right?”

“Yes!”

“Good! See? God is smiling on you. Besides, it’s Christmas. We have a week off from school and maybe the holiday spirit will make his heart grow three sizes. Honestly, by the time we go back, he’ll probably have forgotten the whole thing happened. Blessings everywhere you look.” Hunk rambled when he was lying. Lance didn’t fail to notice the way he rambled now. 

“While I appreciate your optimism, Hunk, I’m having a really hard time agreeing with you there.”

Hunk shrugs, and pushes himself up into seated position. The book falls in the floor with a muted thud. “So, anyway, what outfit were you thinking for the funeral?”

“You know that blue shirt? The one that makes me look like I have shoulders the size of Michael Phelps’?”

“Solid choice, dude.”

“Lance, you have the build of a thirteen year old kid, no shirt can help you out that much,” Pidge says. Her stare is incredulous. 

“Also bar Pidge from entering, Hunk.”

“I have it coming. I realize this.”

“Thanks for understanding.”

“S’what friends are for.”

“If you use the term ‘friend’ loosely, then sure.”

“Sweet. I can accept that.” She smiles and Hunk laughs and the weight of the anxiety that had been gnawing at Lance lessens if only slightly.

“So how about some burritos? Hunk’s treat?” Lance asks and Hunk doesn’t fight his fate. 

Pidge tears through the room and skids in her socks as she rounds the corner into the hallway. “Shotgun!” She cries as she takes the stairs four at a time.

“Good distraction,” Hunk says, patting his pants for his wallet as he makes a much more careful decent downstairs. “You know she’s gonna bring it up again in the car, though.” 

Lance sighs. “I’m never doing another one of her dares again.”

Hunk shakes his head. “I told you it was a stupid game.”

“I know, dad. I know.”

 

As far as Christmases go, Lance’s is pretty uneventful. Family comes over, bullies him about his absence of a girlfriend, and gifts are exchanged. After opening enough Walmart gift cards to last him the rest of his life and a greyhound bus ticket that expired three years ago “just in case he needs to get away,” family leaves, decorations are torn down, and Lance has almost, pretty much, nearly entirely forgotten about the incident with Keith. 

Lance has to remind himself that Hunk has never been wrong before. Because that’s the case, Keith has probably had a Grinch-like transformation of his own and probably won’t remember what happened in the bathroom either.

The holidays are meant for miracles, after all. 

 

Before Lance began relying on miracles, he should’ve gotten right with God because the man upstairs does not have his back. In fact, he’s thrown Lance straight into hellfire. If Lance listens closely, he can hear the entire earth rattling with divine laughter the moment he steps foot into his new Chemistry class. 

Normally, new semesters are openings to new beginnings, but this turn of the semester has quickly turned into a death sentence for Lance. Death by assigned seats is such a lame way to go, too. 

It’s not hard to spot Keith because the classroom is mostly empty. Even if it was filled to the brim, Lance doubts he’d had any difficulty pinpointing him. Keith is just one of those people who sticks out. Perhaps it’s because in a roomful of good vibes, he’s an ink blot. Dark and impenetrable. That’s Keith. Even when he’s not paying attention and Lance walks in on him with eyes locked on the nearest window and a hoodie string in his mouth, he’s nothing Lance wants to be around.

So, of course, that’s why Lance’s name tag is placed right next to his. 

God dammit.

God.

Dammit. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New class icebreakers and resulting meltdowns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Literally all I've done today has been go to work and write in all my free time.  
> The result? A new chapter in less than 24 hours. Cool.

Lance has no qualms with being on the receiving end of a cold shoulder. Having grown up with four siblings, he’s used to silent treatments, eye rolls, and temper tantrums. He couldn’t care less about them. Usually. Keith is on a whole ‘nother level.

Never in his life has Lance experienced a cold shoulder that makes the air too thick to breathe. He wades through pools of tension and comes to a stop three feet short of his seat. Keith doesn’t breathe, move, or otherwise lend any clues that he’s conscious at all. 

Lance is sure there are plenty of things to say to someone who has recently been tackled off a toilet, just as he’s sure there are a million quips he could make about subsequently getting a face full of Keith-junk. But, nothing comes to him. Years of dick jokes have served as training for this very moment, and Lance, weak-minded as he is, can’t come up with a single thing to even begin chipping at the ice between them. 

“Hey man,” he says. He’s going for casual as he slings his bag at the foot of his stool and swivels around until he’s facing the man of the hour. 

Keith doesn’t so much as twitch. As far as Lance can tell, there are about two reasons why Keith isn’t responding. Either a) he’s hard of hearing or b) he’s ignoring Lance. If Lance was a gambling man and was allowed to place a bet, all his money would go towards the latter. 

“Alright,” Lance grumbles, swinging around until he’s facing forward. “Cool.”

Keith replaces the string he’s chewing on with a ragged stub of a nail. It’s a seamless transition that keeps his mouth occupied and makes talking a non-option. 

“Real cool,” says Lance. 

Lance suffers a few more minutes feeling as though he’s breathing soupy air through a straw before he’s —literally— saved by the bell. Their teacher is young with a beautiful, deep complexion and hair pulled back in a no-nonsense braid. 

Suddenly, Lance can barely remember Keith’s name. With his hands clasped together, Lance presses all his weight onto his elbows just to lean a little closer. If he had been paying any mind at all, he would have heard Keith scoffing beside him as he forced himself to face forward.

“Good morning,” she says brightly. Lance feels his heart punch him in the throat. “The school would prefer you to call me Ms. Alfor, but _I_ would prefer you just call me Allura.” 

“Yes ma’am,” Lance whispers. He doesn’t fail to catch the disgusted look Keith shoots in his direction. Lance waggles his eyebrows at him before disregarding his presence again. Keith occupies himself with staring holes into the table and muttering something incoherent under his breath. 

“Now I know you’re all going to hate me after this,” the class tenses, “but we have to start out with some icebreakers.”

Allura doesn’t seem fazed by the collective groan that rattles the walls. 

“I know! I know!” She laughs. “I think you’ll find yourself enjoying this though. I’ve spent my first couple weeks here asking individual instructors about your personalities, and I’ve paired you in a way that will be beneficial to your intellectual and personal growth. I promise you that I’ve sat you beside your new best friend.” She pauses. “And stop giving me that look. I realize you don’t know me, but I know you!”

Muttering amongst tables fills the room with a gloomy hum. Lance, for once, doesn’t want to speak. Unsurprisingly, neither does Keith. 

“Now, our first icebreaker —yes, there are multiple— is an easy one. Find out who your partner is. You know, easy things. Name, favorite color, favorite film, favorite book, the list goes on and on. Once you feel you’ve sufficiently learned who your partner is, you will describe them for the class. Everyone understands?”

Lance thinks he hears crickets amongst the underwhelming response. 

“Great,” Allura claps her hands and nods. “Go ahead.”

Everyone begins talking at once and Lance is positive no one can actually hear the words coming out of their own mouths. 

Keith and Lance exist in their own bubble of frosty silence. 

Lance inches in Keith’s direction and rubs his palms along the denim on his thighs to occupy his attention. “So, uh. Hi. Again.”

Keith’s gaze flickers upwards at him for a brief second before falling towards the table again. Progress. 

“I’m Lance.”

“And I can read,” Keith reaches out to flick the name card sitting in front of Lance. “I know who you are.” 

Lance can feel a tension headache brewing behind his eyes. 

“Right,” he says and the sugar is gone from his voice. His nails dig into his legs. “Cool. Uh. How… how old? Are you?”

Keith sighs and presses his face into his hands like this it the most tedious question he’s ever been asked. He rakes his hair out of his face and pins Lance with an impatient look. “Well,” he begins, “I’m a senior in high school so take a wild guess.”

“18,” Lance says.

“Bingo.”

“Yeah, cool. Me too.” Lance bites the inside of his cheek. “Well, in 7 months. I’m a Junior.”

“Fascinating,” Keith replies. “Thanks for that. I feel like I’ve known you all my life.”

Lance twists his face in annoyance. He’s sure he looks like he ate not only one lemon but the whole damn tree. 

“Have you considered that this might be why you don’t have any friends?” Lance asks before he can think better of it. “Because shoving bamboo in my eye sockets would be more pleasant than holding a two minute conversation with you.”

His shoulders stiffen, but Keith otherwise seems unaffected by Lance lashing out. “So that’s what you’re going to tell the class about me then?” He questions. “It’s thoughtful.”

“That’s all you’re giving me to work with!” Lance does not mean to yell and he definitely doesn’t mean to slam his hands down on the table top, so when both of those things happen simultaneously, Lance and Keith snap back in surprise. 

All eyes are on them and Allura makes her way over. Her once easy smile has become strained. She gives Lance a once over, but her gaze lingers on Keith. The strained smile drops at the edges. Keith refuses to acknowledge her. 

“Boys,” she’s treading lightly but is having a hard time masking her obvious disappointment. _She should’ve known better than to think our personalities would mesh,_ Lance thinks. “Is everything alright over here?”

“S’great,” Lance says to his lap. “You gave me a real charmer.”

Again, she fixes her eyes on Keith. Lance suspects she’s waiting for him to defend himself. He doesn’t. Though his view is obstructed, Lance can clearly see Keith’s brows knit together behind his hair. After a beat of silence, Allura nods. 

“Perhaps we should move on,” she suggests.

“Perhaps we should,” Keith echoes. 

One by one, people introduce their partners to the class in awkward three word sentences. Brenda has a dog. His name is Toby. Kate likes cartoons. Lance finds he’s surrounded by truly captivating people. 

Allura carefully dodges Lance and Keith as she picks pairs for their introductions and she seamlessly moves into the next activity before anyone can notice they’ve been left out. 

“It’s essentially a game of Would You Rather,” Allura says, “I’ll give a prompt, and you’ll defend your answer to your partner. Doable, yes?”

“Yes,” is the unanimous answer.

“Marvelous! Would you rather have a wardrobe consisting only of shirts one size too small or two sizes too big?”

Chatter flares up across the room once again and Lance decides to bite the bullet and say his piece first. 

“Too small,” he says.

Keith scrunches his face. “Why? That would be really uncomfortable.”

Lance nearly falls out of his chair when Keith offers him a full sentence. It takes a moment to collect himself from the shock. “Uh because? Have you seen this bod? Everyone wins.”

“That’s uncomfortable just to think about.”

Lance snorts. “Says you and only you.”

Keith shoots a sidelong glance that’s cut short by their next prompt.

“Would you rather be alone for the rest of your life or always be surrounded by annoying people?”

“Alone.” Keith apparently needs no time to think on it.

“What?” Lance turns towards him. “No? That would be miserable and the last thing you need.”

“You don’t know what I need, first of all,” Keith says. “Second of all, I’m already surrounded by only annoying people and it isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be.”

“Okay,” Lance breathes. “First of all, rude. Second of all, people aren’t that bad if you give them a chance.”

“Sure.”

Allura’s voice cuts through the noise again. “Would you rather be completely invisible for a day or be able to fly for a day?”

Neither of them speak at first. 

“Invisible,” Keith finally mutters into his palm. 

“That’s so emo, dude.”

“It was literally one of only two options, Lance!”

“Okay. Why invisibility then?”

In that moment, Keith is stricken with a sudden case of deafness as he apparently doesn’t here the question, nor does he supply an answer. 

“Because I’m emo.” Lance does an abysmal job of mimicking Keith’s voice. 

“I don’t sound like that.”

Lance hums. “Debatable.”

Keith’s jaw clenches and his hand flexes in his lap. They’re both not so subtle hints that Lance should shut up. Lance does not. 

“Would you rather have a golden voice or a silver tongue?”

“Easy,” Lance leans back in his seat and threads his fingers behind his head. “Seeing as I’ve already been blessed with—“

“If you say one word about your tongue, I’ll rip it out of your mouth,” Keith intercepts with a dangerous edge. 

“You wound me.”

“If you test me.”

“Edgy.”

Their conversation ends with both of them staring daggers at each other which is surprising to no one but Allura. Amazingly, she still seems astounded by their inability to get along. Maybe she’s more exasperated than astounded, but she wears a long face nevertheless. 

“Right!” She says from the front of the room. “Do we feel that we know one another just a little bit better?”

A wave of half-hearted shrugs passes through the classroom paired with some noncommittal noises. 

“That’s perfectly fine as we’ll continue to do these for the next few weeks. I’m sure we’ll have time between lessons!” Her smile is blinding. 

Keith groans in the exact same instant Lance’s head bounces off the tabletop. 

“Fuck,” they say in unison.

Well, at least they can agree on something. 

 

On normal days, Lance always walks home with Pidge and Hunk flanking him. But, today is not a normal day and Lance is not in the mood for chatting. He is in the mood to bury his head in his backyard though.

“Lance!”

Lance would recognize Pidge’s shrieking anywhere and that serves as his cue to walk faster. There is no doubt in Lance’s mind that he would have gotten away, too, had Hunk not joined in the chase. 

“Lance!” Hunk shouts.

Suddenly, Lance is frighteningly aware of how the main character in _The Most Dangerous Game_ must have been feeling during his time in the woods. 

Hunk is much faster than he looks, and he’s walking in step with Lance within seconds. Pidge is perched on his shoulders. 

“Longer legs, faster pace,” Pidge says as means of explanation but makes no moves to get down. Hunk doesn’t seem to mind. 

“Where do you think you’re going in such a hurry?” Hunk asks.

“Probably to jump off my roof or something,” Lance shrugs.

“Dramatic.” Pidge says. 

“I have every right to be, Pidge!” Lance exclaims. “Every right!”

“Why do I doubt that?”

“Because one time he killed his goldfish and refused to go to school the next day because, and I quote, ‘there had been a death in the family and he had to attend a funeral.’” Hunk suggests, helpfully. 

“Yes!” Pidge shouts. “Or that time I dared him to eat dirt and he panicked so much he convinced his mom to take him to the E.R because he wanted his stomach pumped?”

“Those things literally happened years ago,” Lance says, determined to be his own hero because, clearly, no one else is itching to do it. 

“The fish thing was four months ago.” Pidge corrects him while pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. 

“He was a betta fish, and I had him for three years!” Lance snaps. “Regardless, this is different. This warrants dramatic antics.”

“Again, doubtful.”

“What happened, dude?”

Lance slings his front door open and throws his backpack up the stairs. When it comes tumbling back down, Lance settles for kicking it. “Keith is in my chemistry class,” he growls. 

Pidge’s face breaks into a gigantic smile.

“But wait!”

“There’s more?” Hunk asks, weary. 

“We’re partners. All semester long. Because, get this, we’re like destined to be best friends or some shit.”

Pidge waits two seconds to be sure the story is over before the laughter bubbles up and her eyes brim with tears. Lance isn’t surprised when Pidge cracks up, but he doesn’t know the true meaning of betrayal until Hunk joins in.

“Are you kidding me?!” Lance throws his arms in the air and slides down the stair bannister until he’s slouching on unforgiving hardwood. “You two? Worst friends ever.”

“Okay, okay, okay,” Hunk waves his hands in front of him, begging for a truce. “What if we make a battle plan.”

“A battle plan,” Lance repeats, deadpan.

“Yeah!” Pidge joins in. “Like Ned’s Declassified but instead of surviving middle school, you’re surviving one semester without getting your head smashed.”

“Like a grape,” Lance says. 

Pidge and Hunk nod solemnly. 

“I could easily do the head smashing, though,” Lance says.

The response he receives is far less confident and includes two more head shakes than he was hoping for. 

Sighing, Lance shrugs. “A battle plan. I really don’t see any better options here.”

“Because there are none,” Pidge says.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence there, buddy,” Lance says, hoisting himself onto his feet and sweeping his arms towards the stairs. “Tonight, we strike.”

“We’re not striking, Lance,” Hunk reminds him. “This is a peaceful war.”

“Way to suck the fun right out of it, man.”

“Tonight we strike up Plan Insure-Lance-Makes-Friends-And-He-And-Keith-Skip-Out-Of-That-Classroom-At-The-End-Of-The-Year-Holding-Hands-With-Hearts-In-Their-Eyes.” Pidge offers. 

“Kind of a mouthful,” Hunk says. “But yes.”

“No.”

Two pairs of eyes fall on Lance, and neither of them look convinced.

“Anyway,” Pidge says, making her way up the stairs. “I read a wikihow article one time about making cats comfortable and the first step is to maintain eye contact for 15 seconds, and blink slowly to communicate you love them.”

“Keith isn’t a cat,” Lance says.

“He’s pretty much a cat,” Pidge retorts, falling into Lance’s computer chair.

“Finicky, likes no one, hisses a lot… he checks all the boxes,” Hunk says, adding fuel to the fire.

Pidge nods furiously.

“Oh my God,” Lance groans, clawing at his own face. “I take it back, get out of my house. This was a horrible idea.”

“Step two,” Pidge says loud enough to drown Lance out. 

It’s downhill from there.

 

At only 5 o’clock in the afternoon, Lance is mentally preparing himself for a long night. Jumping off the roof still hasn’t been ruled out as an option by the time Pidge reaches step 67 and Hunk is long asleep. They’ve read every cat whisperer article Google has to offer, and Lance thinks one of his eyes rolled out of his head earlier in the night. (A result of intense mental strain.)

“Just remember, Lance. Approach slowly, and pet the face, not the tummy.”

“Go to sleep, Pidge.”

“And don’t touch the pads on his feet.”

“Pidge, sleep.”

“Also, don’t trim his whiskers.”

“Pidge.”

“Good night, Lance.”

“Night, Pidge.”

Silence settles over them and Lance finally feels his muscles relax when an all too familiar voice pierces through the night. 

“Step 68—“

“ _Pidge.”_

“Okay, fine,” she says around a yawn. “I’m done. No more steps.”

“Great. Goodnight.”

Five seconds. Lance only gets five seconds of silence before she’s back again. “I bet step 69 is going to be right up your alley.”

 

It only takes Lance two minutes to set up a lumpy, formless pallet in his laundry room floor. Not that it serves any purpose; he doesn’t sleep a wink. Rather, he counts down hours, minutes, and seconds, until school begins again and his nightmare repeats. 

He can only hope grey hair and fine lines suit him, because this stress is going no where any time soon. Kissing his beauty goodbye at the young age of 17 was never part of his life plan. Then again, none of this was.

Stupid fucking Keith. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Talk to me at redpaladiins.tumblr.com and feel free to leave kudos and comments! They're always nice and super encouraging :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance finds that there is an art in finding new ways to test Keith's patience. Obviously, this backfires.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was GOING TO updated earlier today but I got called into work. Sorry if it reads a little sloppily, but I tried my best.  
> But hey! One more week till Thanksgiving!

Pidge leads their trio on the way to school while Hunk lingers back and all but holds Lance’s hand to ensure he doesn’t make a hasty escape. Lance wants to be offended that Hunk has so little faith in him, but it’s hard to be offended when he’s already crafted twelve plausible escape routes from the exact place he’s standing. 

Because running away isn’t an option, Lance _does_ find ways to stall for time. He has to tie his shoe immediately once they’re off his front porch. Then, Lance realizes he ‘forgot’ his Calculus textbook and brings their parade back to his front door. Once they’re midways to the school, a sudden burst of wind disguised as a soft breeze takes all the papers Lance carries and scatters them across the street. Ideally, this was going to be the part where Lance got accidentally hit by a car, but, seeing as the street is completely vacant save for the three of them running around in the middle of it, Lance’s dreams are squashed. 

Unfortunately, all that running causes his other shoe to loosen so he has no option but to stoop down and retie it.

“Lance, do your shoes even have laces?” Pidge asks from a block away with her arms folded over her chest.

No, would be the correct answer. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” is the answer she receives. 

 

Hunk carrying Lance into school bridal style is not the strangest thing the South Castle High School student body has ever witnessed them do, but that doesn’t stop the onslaught of curious stares and hushed whispers. 

“My legs work,” Lance reminds Hunk for the 30th time during their five minute walk. 

“Not fast enough,” Hunk says as he lowers Lance back onto solid ground. Pidge guards the front door to prevent any further acts of tomfoolery on Lance’s part. 

In theory, when comparing their heights and builds, Lance could easily take Pidge in a fight. In practice, though, Lance is absolutely sure he’d get his ass handed to him by a 15 year old girl. Is there anything more reputation ruining than that? Lance thinks not, so he’s not brave enough to risk it.

Pouting is all he can do, so he does it proudly and well while Hunk guides him to first period Spanish. 

 

“Maybe he’s not here today,” Lance says on his way to Chemistry. He hates how hopeful he sounds.

“Maybe,” Hunk replies sounding far less convinced. 

“ _Or_ ,” Lance gasps, “or maybe his family skipped the country over night!”

Hunk is silent, but it's answer enough.

“No, you’re right. Too unbelievable.” Lance makes a contemplative noise as he squeezes through throngs of people. “Maybe his alien parental units finally decided it was his time and abducted him last night. Ejected him right into space.”

Lance feels warm just thinking about it. 

“Yeah…” Hunk trails off and shakes his head. “I wouldn’t bet on that.”

Dread settles like a cement block in Lance’s gut. “Why?” He asks, but it doesn’t come across as a question. Rather, it sounds like a cry for help. 

Warily, Lance follows Hunk’s gaze and he wishes he could be more surprised when his eyes fall on Keith. Unlike yesterday, the window hasn’t captivated Keith’s attention. Instead, Keith is staring right back at him. Somehow it feels like a challenge. 

Hunk waves and Lance slaps his hand out of the air. 

“Really dude? Fraternizing with the enemy?”

Hunk’s lips quirk upward and he shoulders rise and fall in a loose shrug. “He’s never done anything to me, Lance. If you think about it, he really hasn’t done anything to you either.”

He doesn’t intend to think about it and says as much.

“I’m just saying you should consider being nice,” Hunk says.

If there was a competition designed to crown someone the ‘King Of Nice’ Hunk would win by a landslide. Lance is under no impression that he would even be considered for the running so he hardly feels guilty when he scoffs. 

“I’d rather lick your feet again,” Lance says with nothing but complete sincerity lacing his voice. 

“You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re wrong,” Lance says. He takes another look into the classroom and Keith has elected to look away. Slow, steadying breaths do nothing to encourage him to take the necessary steps forward. Hunk gracelessly shoving him forward, on the other hand, does.

By the time Lance bolts back out into the hallway, Hunk has conquered half a flight of stairs and shows no signs of slowing down. He’s well out of earshot and Lance knows he doesn’t care to hear his griping. Chasing him would benefit neither of them, so Lance settles for shooting a mean glare until Hunk is completely out of view.

Lance spins on his heels when he feels he’s had time to gather himself and saunters into the room, posture slack and shoulders back. When Lance approaches the table, Keith looks up from the notebook he’d been so intently focused on. 

“You’re still here?” Lance asks as he unceremoniously falls into his seat.

Keith arches an eyebrow. “Seeing as I go to school here? Yes. What kind of question is that?”

Lance doesn’t know, so, instead of granting Keith a valid response he huffs and faces forward.

Keith merits that worth an eye roll of his own and goes back to staring at his notebook which Lance notices is entirely blank. 

“Unbelievable,” Lance mutters, pressing his forehead to the tabletop. 

“Do you have a problem with literally everything?” Keith snaps, slamming the cover closed.

“Only when it concerns you,” Lance says.

A fire lights behind Keith’s eyes and Lance is 98% sure they’re fires of unbridled rage and not the heat of passion.

For once, he’s happy about that.

His smile is smug and he knows it is by the way Keith’s brows furrow and his mouth hits a steep downward slope. 

“You’re such a fucking-“

“Good morning!” Allura, chipper as always, greets them from the threshold. “It’s wonderful to see you all again.”

A couple half-hearted good mornings litter the air, and that seems to be good enough for her as she makes her way to center stage. Her skirts flutter behind her when she walks and she’s decided to leave her hair down today. Lance will never get over having a movie star for a chemistry teacher. 

“Today, unfortunately, is going to be a little bit boring,” she says and her smile is apologetic. “But, we must cover lab safety before we’re able to get into the fun aspects of this class. I intend to do this through a game of Jeopardy.”

Everyone waits as she draws a lopsided Jeopardy board on the whiteboard. She doesn’t seem entirely pleased with her handiwork but she shrugs and caps her marker anyway. “That’ll do,” she says. “You’ll remain in your pre-selected groups for this activity.”

No one seems disheartened by this news as animated chatter flares up. Lance and Keith acknowledge each other with a deadlock stare. 

Allura selects her first team. 

“Uh…” one of the girls stands up and studies the board for a solid three minutes. The class waits in uncomfortable silence and even Allura begins to seem concerned until she’s finally decided on her category. “True or False for 200.”

“Alright,” Allura says as she flips through the index cards in her hands. “What the teacher doesn’t know won’t hurt them.”

“What is false!” Their table screams in unison. 

“Jesus,” Keith mutters, rubbing at his temples. 

“Correct,” Allura says, congratulating them at a much softer volume. “Alright, Jesse,” she nods at a new table. “Pick your category.”

The game continues for twenty minutes before, almost begrudgingly, Allura calls on Lance to pick his category. 

Lance feels Keith’s glare pierce holes in his skull when he picks without consulting Keith at all. 

“Definitions for 500, Alex.”

Allura hums. “Wear these gloves when working with harmful chemicals and organisms.”

The moment Lance opens his mouth, Keith slaps the table. “Don’t say something stupid, Lance,” he hisses. “What’s your answer?”

Lance glares.

“Lance!”

“Uh, latex. Duh.”

“Plastic,” Keith says. 

“Same difference.”

“No, not the same difference rubber, latex, and plastic are all very different materials that-“

“Who said anything about rubber?” 

“Is that what you’re going to focus on?”

“Yes. Because you’re wrong.”

“Time’s up. Plastic,” Allura says, “is the glove of choice.”

“Way to go,” Keith grumbles, slinging himself back in his chair hard enough to make it scrape against the tiles. 

“How about shut your fuck,” Lance retorts.

Keith snorts. “Good one.”

“I can’t stand you.”

“Good.”

 

“He’s so… so,” Lance gropes at the air searching for the right word, “so _fucking annoying_.”

“Articulate as always,” Pidge says, putting down her book for the third time. Ordinarily, the library is peaceful. Lance is changing that in a hurry. “Are there any other descriptors you’d like to throw in there?”

“Fucking stupid,” Lance says. 

“I think you said that one two insults ago.”

“Ugh,” Lance huffs and kicks a chair. It clatters onto its side and the hostile look he gets from the librarian tells him to clean up his act. Quickly. “I hate him,” Lance says, righting the chair and falling into it. 

“I’m glad you specified that,” Pidge says. Her eyes are back to scanning pages in her Western History text book and subsequently her attention is miles away. “I wasn’t entirely sure.”

“You’re no help,” Lance grumbles.

“You don’t pay me enough to be,” she retorts.

“I don’t pay you at all.”

“As far as you know,” Pidge mutters.

“What?”

“I said ‘well there you go.’”

Lance narrows his eyes and rakes his fingers through his hair. With his face covered by his arms, he sighs. “Right.”

 

It takes two weeks for Lance to beat Keith to class, but when he does he takes full advantage of the opportunity and takes Keith’s seat for no reason other than to be a general annoyance. Keith stomps through the door not even four seconds after Lance has settled himself in, and his neutral expression sours immediately.

“Why?” Keith deadpans from where he hovers over Lance.

Lance is sure Keith’s trying his hardest to seem intimidating. It’s too bad he fails so miserably. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Use your words.”

“Move your ass.”

“My ass is fine where it is.”

“Move it.”

“I think you’re gonna have to make me.”

Keith takes a bold step forward, and Lance straightens his back and broadens his chest. It’s hard to look big while sitting down. Unfortunately, it’s too late to change the situation in his favor, so he makes due.

“Morning, class!” 

Allura has impeccable timing. Keith’s sneer falls into something that more closely resembles a pout and he throws his backpack at the ground. Keith is sure to kick Lance’s seat on his way into his own. 

Lance swells with pride over his minor victory while Keith deflates and buries his face in the crook of his arm. 

“Pouty,” Lance observes. 

Keith’s head flies up and Lance is almost worried he gave himself whiplash. “Is your goal for me to deck you?”

“Are you threatening me?”

“I felt that was obvious,” Keith says. “So you are as dense as you look.”

Lance bristles and Keith is the grin left with a shit-eating grin. Lance has never wanted to punch a face more. 

 

Hunk pulls his headphones off the minute Lance barrels into his study hall. Lance is sure Hunk has a sixth sense or a Lance-radar or something because he never misses a beat.

“What’s up, buddy?”

“He called me dense,” Lance yells right over top of him. Glares are shot at him from all directions.

Hunk frowns and pats the seat beside him. “Sit. Chat. What did you do to him?”

“Hunk! Who’s side are you on?”

“You don’t give him a fair chance,” Hunk says. “I’m trying to keep an even playing ground.”

Scoffing, Lance throws his hands in the air. “Okay, who’s best friend are you? Mine or his.”

“That’s something a twelve year old would ask.”

“Answer the question!”

“Yours,” Hunk admits with great reluctance. 

“Exactly! And what does that mean?”

“That I tell you when you’re not giving someone a fair chance?”

Lance sinks down in his chair and whines.

“Dude! You know I’m right.”

“I know no such thing.”

Hunk hums.

“He called me dense.”

“And he was wrong,” Hunk says, voice gentle, “you can just be a little obtuse.”

“I’m not getting anywhere with you, am I?”

“Nowhere,” he confirms. 

Lance huffs, and pushes himself onto his feet. “I’m gonna go pout now.”

“Bye, Lance,” Hunk laughs while pushing his headphones back over his ears.

After shooting him the bird, Lance disappears around the corner and makes his way to his last period class, sulking as promised. 

 

“Has anyone heard of the Flaming Gummybear?” Allura asks from the front of the classroom.

“Sounds like a band you would listen to,” Lance says while doodling in his notebook. He glances up just long enough to see the dangerous look Keith gives him before turning his attention elsewhere. He’s sure Keith can see the smirk he’s wearing and he’s also sure he doesn’t care. 

“It’s an experiment,” Allura continues, “that involves test tubes, liquid potassium chlorate, and a gummy bear. Does anyone know exactly why this is a bad idea?”

“Sugar doesn’t mix with potassium chlorate,” Keith says. “It’s explosive.”

Allura looks taken aback by his participation but nods eagerly to cover it up. “Exactly!”

“So we’re making bombs?” Someone near the back of the classroom asks.

Her enthusiasm is quick to fade. “No.”

“Damn,” Lance hears the kid in front of him mutter. 

Suddenly, Lance feels unsafe.

“We’re not making bombs, we’re just playing with fire if you will. I need one person from each pairing to grab one gummybear, one bunsen burner, one test tube and test tube holder, and one pair of tweezers please,” Allura steps back and allows full access to the table of goodies she’s set up, and Lance is quick on his feet.

“I got this,” he says.

“And I’m not holding my breath,” Keith retorts. 

It takes all the willpower Lance possesses not to thump him on the forehead.

Lance returns with all the necessary supplies and then some. Rather than one gummy bear he may have came back with a pocketful of them, but he’s sure there’s a rule somewhere about experimenting on an empty stomach. It has to be bad for you. 

Keith looks disapproving, but when doesn’t he?

Making her way around the room, Allura comes by and with a ginger hand, she pours the proper amount of liquid potassium chlorate into their prepared test tube. 

“Be quick,” she says, “the potassium chlorate will crystalize and the reaction will lessen greatly in the event that happens.”

“You got it,” Lance says. “Speedy is my middle name.”

Keith rubs his eyes and shakes his head as if that will scrub the phrase from his memory. “That has got to be the dumbest thing you’ve said to date.”

Lance ignores him and chooses to busy himself with swiping the tweezers off the table and deciding on his sacrificial gummybear. He chooses red —because they’re the least enjoyable—and drops it right in the tube. 

He isn’t sure why he doesn’t expect a loud reaction, but the resulting pop and flames catches Lance off guard. He shrieks, jumps back, and all of his treats go soaring from out of his pocket to scatter across the table. Naturally, because nothing can go right for him, his knee bumps the table and the vibrations overturn their test tube.

Suddenly, chemicals and molten gummy bears have the entire class screaming. Some run for the doors and others to the windows, but, mercifully, the fireworks show ends before anyone escapes. 

Allura, not for the first time, looks displeased with the mess they’ve made. But, beneath her controlled demeanor, Lance can see her murderous intentions.

“Uh oh, Scoob,” Lance whispers.

“You two. In the hall. Now, please.”

Lance leans over to grab his bag but her voice stops him. “Now. I’ll bring it out to you later.”

Lance is not only walking on thin ice, he’s doing an Irish step dance on it. Allura has run out of patience. 

“Great going, Lance,” Keith says in passing.

Lance follows on his heels without saying anything at all.

 

Keith doesn’t wait for the door to click closed before he tries to defend his good name by throwing Lance’s under the bus. Allura doesn’t want to hear it.

“Detention,” she says, but he keeps talking.

“To be fair, I didn’t mean to,” Lance interjects. 

“Yeah?” Keith asks. “Well, accidents happen all the time but that doesn’t make them any less stupid. It doesn’t mean they didn’t happen, and it definitely doesn’t mean this isn’t still your fault.”

Lance opens his mouth, but Allura steps between them.

“Detention,” she repeats, “I’m not saying it again. Two hours. Tomorrow afternoon. That’s it. You both need a place to collect yourselves. That’s a good place start.”

Keith wants to argue, Lance can see it, but he doesn’t.

“Please wait here so I can retrieve your things,” she says. Her voice is tight and edged with something sharp. Lance flinches when she passes. 

Keith doesn’t speak for a long while, he only stews. Finally, his thoughts come together and he looks Lance dead in the eye. 

“My life was so much better before I met you, you know that?” He says through grit teeth. “Why won’t you just leave me be?”

Lance swallows hard and sputters, searching for something worth saying.

“Shut up,” Keith instructs, and Lance does as he's told. “Just leave me alone. Got it? Leave me alone.”

Hearing Lance’s answer is not high on Keith’s priority list and neither is grabbing his stuff because he hightails it out of there immediately after losing his cool. Lance wants to follow him, but he also wants to go in the other direction. He wants to slam lockers and stomp his feet, and he also wants to sulk in a quiet place. He does none of that, though. Instead, he watches Keith’s retreating figure until something in his chest doesn’t seem to fit quite right anymore.

Allura reappears carrying a backpack in each hand. When she’s fully in the hallway she pauses. “Where is Keith?”

“Had to pee,” Lance says as grabs for his stuff. After a second of contemplation, he takes Keith’s too. “I’ll give it to him.”

Allura studies him long and hard. “Please ensure he gets it back.”

“Yeah,” he says. “I will.”

No words pass between them for a while. “I’ll take your word for that, Lance. You’re a good kid.”

He’s starting to doubt that but he nods regardless. “Thanks. See you tomorrow?”

“Of course,” she nods, “and don’t be so hard on yourself. One detention won’t ruin your records, I promise you.”

“Oh,” Lance says, “yeah. Yeah, right. It’s fine. Cool. Thanks.”

Allura pauses with her hand on the door handle. Her lips are pressed so firmly together it seems she doesn’t have any at all. “Take care,” she says simply.

The door slams closed, and Lance is left alone. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance and Keith settle for a truce and agree to tolerate one another until the semester ends. Then, they'll be free of one another.  
> Detention, a rousing game of hangman, and 21 questions gone wrong assist them with their bonding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Do you have any plans for the weekend? I hope you're able to enjoy this new chapter between your plans :)

Lance did not think this through. Judging by the weight of Keith’s backpack, he lugs approximately 27 bricks around school daily, and now that weight in Lance’s problem. Not only that, he’s left dodging questions about stealing Keith’s stuff left and right.

Keith isn’t a particularly popular guy, but apparently his branding is. A worn leather bag emblazoned with NASA badges and pyramid studs doesn’t exactly adhere to Lance’s image. Keith’s though? The guy’s edgy. 

Though his name is thrown around all day, no one seems to have seen Keith after his retreat. 

Lance goes all day without a sighting and decides to spend his afternoon retracing empty hallways. He check in bathrooms, empty classrooms, and trashcans. All likely places for his lost Chemistry partner come up short. The shoulder that supports Keith’s bag has dislocated itself from his body and Lance’s feet drag as he calls it quits and trudges through downtown on his way home.

There’s a funk settling in his chest. It’s not quite sadness, but it eats at him just the same. He’s disappointed in himself. He’s disappointed that Allura is disappointed in him. Hell, he even feels bad because Keith feels bad. He doesn’t know what the hell that’s about, and that bothers him even more. 

As a rule of thumb, Lance lives by the belief that all funky sad feelings can be healed by carbs. There aren’t enough carbs in the world to keep the gnawing feeling at bay, but he’s willing to bet that if he crams 3 deep fried donuts in his face at once, he’ll at least suffocate it for the time being. 

A pit stop is in order.

 

Shay’s Place is a short detour from Lance’s normal route home. Seeing as Lance is open to any and all distractions, additional walking with the promise of sugary goodness at the end of his journey is right up his alley. 

The small bakery feels like home to everyone who steps foot inside, and Lance can’t sling the door open fast enough. 

The bell above the front door tinkles and Lance takes a dramatic step inside. Lance takes a deep breath and feels the warmth of baked goods fill his heart and warn his arteries of what they’re up against. Usually, this is the part where Shay will greet him with a fond hug and a complementary cookie or her brother, Rax, will inform him about his prospects for whatever sports game is scheduled for the weekend.

Neither of those greetings find him today. Rather, the guy behind the counter scoffs.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Lance recognizes Keith’s voice immediately. It’s annoying. Like nails on chalkboards and birds that scream too early in the morning. 

Still, though. He has to be certain.

Lance whips around, intense glare in place. Keith meets Lance with a glare of his own. 

“Is detention not enough?” He questions. “Are you here to get me fired too?”

“What are you doing here?” Lance fires back. Of course Keith finds a way to ruin his one true happy place. Of course. 

Keith makes a show of eyeing his own name badge and then fixes the register with a pointed look. “Robbing the place,” he says, followed by, “I work here, dumbass.” Keith studies him for a second before the scowl returns. “And you took my stuff.”

“Yeah,” Lance says, attempting to throw it at him. Bricks don’t do well with air travel, and the backpack plummets towards the earth without gaining any distance whatsoever. “I did. I told Allura I’d return it.”

Keith looks at his stuff in the floor and then raises his gaze to look at Lance with dead eyes. “Lance, I don’t value this job enough for it to keep me from hopping this counter right now.”

“I could handle myself,” Lance says with far more confidence than he feels. Though Keith is shorter, he’s undeniably more toned.

At least the hospital isn’t far from here. 

Keith snorts, and it’s the closest he’s ever heard Keith to laughing. Lance almost gasps even if it’s at his own expense. 

“I should-“

“Go?” Keith suggests, leaning his weight on the counter. “Good idea.”

“No,” Lance says through grit teeth. “I was going to say apolo…” Pride is much harder to swallow than Lance ever realized. “Apolo…gize… to? You?”

“You tell Allura you were going to do that too? Think that’ll make her like you more?” 

“If you don’t stop,” Lance bites his tongue and rakes his fingers through his hair. “The more you talk, the more difficult you make this for me. Stop talking.”

Keith cracks a self satisfied smile.

“I fucked up,” Lance begins.

“Again.”

“Keith! Cierra la boca, alright? I’d literally rather rip my own throat out than do this right now.”

“I don’t speak Spanish, but I can guess what that means,” Keith says.

Lance’s head falls to the side. This certainly isn’t the direction he saw this conversation detouring in, but he can work with it. “Me either,” he finally says. “My older brother taught me swears, though.”

“Typical.”

“He got grounded for three weeks. It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Keith exhales through his nose, and Lance translates it as another laugh. He still looks ragged, but Lance thinks he can see his anger dissipating. His previous cloud of smoke and rage is now just a haze. 

“I bet,” he says before propelling their conversation forward. “Skip the apology, alright? Can we just agree that we don’t like each other as people and move on?”

“Easily.”

“Let’s get through this semester and never speak again, okay? I just need this grade.”

Lance nods. “Fine.”

“Great.” 

“Good.”

Silence falls over them. Keith sighs.

“Are you gonna leave or what?”

“Oh!” Lance gasps, snaps his fingers, and trips over his own feet as he backpedals out the door. “Yeah. Leaving. See you tomorrow.”

Keith presses his lips together and nods by doing nothing more than raising his chin. “Yeah. Oh, and Lance.”

Lance stops midway out the door. 

“Tell me to shut up again, and I’ll rip your throat out for you.”

Lance snorts. “You don’t scare me. Hasta la later, Keith.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “Bye.”

 

Keith isn’t in class, and Lance tries his best not to be annoyed. Their truce to tolerate each other’s presence is barely 12 hours old and Keith is already rocking the boat. Lance wishes he could say he’s surprised.

He’s not.

Despite his aggravation, Lance really can’t dismiss Keith’s logic: they do get along better when they aren’t together. The glaring char marks on their table are testament to that. So, when Allura passes group worksheets around, Lance grins with tightly pursed lips and fills the entire thing out on his own. He doesn’t phone a friend or attempt to sabotage Keith once. 

He’s practically reborn. 

When class lets out, Lance passes by Allura’s desk to drop their worksheet in the completed bin but stops when Allura’s voice catches his attention. “Lance, may I have a word?”

Lance’s eyes bounce between Allura’s desk and her face. “Yeah.”

“I know I may sound silly asking you this,” she says once the classroom has cleared. “But, have you heard from Keith?”

Lance laughs but there’s no humor in it.

“I’m the last person you should ask,” he says. “If he was ever in trouble, he’d probably just die before he called me. “

“So, that’s a no.”

“Nah,” Lance confirms. “Sorry.”

“That’s alright,” she smiles. “Thank you. Have a good weekend.”

 

Hunk meets Lance when the final bell rings and hoards of uncontrollable teenagers collide in the hallways. While everyone else clamors to get out of the front doors, Lance elbows his way deeper into the school. 

“It’s just two hours,” Hunk says when the detention room comes into view.

“120 minutes, though,” Lance counters.

Hunk claps him on the back. “That’ll teach you to start small fires.”

“Small!” Lance shouts. “ _Small_ fire.”

Hunk laughs from deep in his stomach. “I don’t think it makes all that much difference.”

“If I’d gone a little bigger and burned down the whole school, there’d be no detention to go to.”

“Good point.” Hunk looks at his wrist that lacks a watch. “See you in 119 minutes.”

Lance’s face falls and he offers a mock salute. “See you, space cowboy.”

 

Lance hasn’t been seated for more than five minutes before a familiar figure fills the threshold. Keith donning his leather jacket and sunglasses pushed into his hair looks far more intimidating than he has any right to. He shoves his way through the room and sits as far away from Lance as possible. 

Before Keith can even remove his coat and sit down, Lance is on the move. He bounces between seats, inching himself closer to Keith. Keith, lost in his own mind, pulls a notebook from his bag and leans back in his seat. His wrist is loose as he scribbles on lined paper and Lance is prepared to break his own neck trying to crane himself over Keith’s shoulder to sneak a peak at what he’s doing.

It takes half an hour to finally reach the seat next to Keith’s and when he does the look he gets is less than inviting. 

“What do you want, Lance?”

“I’m bored.” Lance has never been good at whispering. Judging by the way Keith flinches, he still needs to work on it. 

“Okay?”

“Listen,” Lance begins, “I’m not too hipped up on talking to you either, I just need someone to play Hangman with.”

Lance peers onto Keith’s desk and Keith swipes his arm across his notebook. 

“Go away, man.”

“Just one game,” Lance says distractedly as he tries to see through Keith’s arms. “You draw?”

“No,” Keith says, stowing away what is very obviously a drawing. From what Lance can tell it’s a pretty damn good drawing, too. “And no.”

“Fine, I’m not leaving you alone though,” Lance kicks his feet out in front of him and folds his arms over his chest. Keith looks cool when he does this. Lance feels and looks like a stubborn five year old. 

“Lance.”

“One game.”

Keith claws at his own face. “No.”

“I have a big family, Keith. I can do this all day.”

“You make my head hurt.”

Lance shrugs. “Do I hear a yes in there?”

“Fine. Whatever. _One_ game.”

“Sweet,” Lance says reaching past Keith to yank a page out of the notebook he’d poorly hidden. “You go first.” Lance places the paper in front of Keith.

Keith grumbles and flips his pen between nimble fingers as he chews on his lip. Finally, he draws five dashes and set his pen down.

“A,” Lance guesses.

Keith counts three spaces and scribbles the letter A over its assigned dash. His handwriting is atrocious. 

Lance’s eyes dart up to Keith’s face. “E”

Again, Lance is lucky. The second and last dashes get indecipherable E’s above them.

“The word is ‘leave’ isn’t it?” 

“You’re quick,” Keith says, shoving the paper in front of Lance. “Feel free to go ahead and do that now.”

“Rude,” Lance quips while making no moves to relocate. He reaches across Keith and swipes his pen, drawing six dashes of his own. “Go ahead.”

“I agreed to one game.”

Lance nods. “Yep, you sure did. Go ahead and start guessing letters.”

Keith throws his head back. Lance imagines he’s counting ceiling tiles to keep his wits about him. “I swear to God,” he whispers. “A.”

Lance makes a buzzer noise and startles everyone in the classroom. He draws a head and shakes his own. “Better luck next time.”

“Uh,” Keith shrugs, “u.”

“Nice!” Lance cheers and fills in the second dash.

Face pinched, Keith leans in closer as if he can intimidate the paper into giving him an answer. “E?”

Lance nods, filling in the fifth blank. 

“N.”

A much soft buzzer noise follows his guess. Lance gives the hanging man a spine.

Keith props his chin in his palm. “Q.”

“Q?” Lance laughs, and draws a left arm. “Who guesses Q?”

“Do you have a problem with it?” Keith asks.

“A little bit,” Lance says, but his voice is light still riding the tail of laughter. “It’s a stupid guess.”

Keith rubs his face but doesn’t fight it. “M.”

“Ding, ding, ding.” 

The first blank is filled in.

Intense quiet fills the space between them and Keith visibly racks his brain. 

“S.”

Lance sucks air through his teeth, and draws a wobbly second arm. “You’re about to become a murderer.”

“L.”

Lance’s mouth stretches into a mischievous grin. “Almost there,” he says as he fills in the two middle blanks with Keith’s guess.

“Mullet?” Keith asks.

“Yes!”

“Why?”

“You have one,” Lance says. “This is my way of asking if a hair cut can be our next activity.”

“I do not,” Keith argues. “And no.”

Lance gives a dramatic nod. “Sure, dude. I don’t think you’ll find a single lawyer to defend that in court though.” Keith scowls and Lance breaks into an overwhelming smile. “I’m just saying.”

“Of course you are,” Keith says.

 

After three more games and four more arguments about Lance leaving, Keith finally accepts his fate. With only 45 minutes left on the clock, company can’t hurt anything anyway. 

“Let’s play 21 questions.”

“My vote goes for the quiet game,” Keith counters.

“Uh, no. First question.”

“I never agreed to this.”

“Do you ever?” Lance asks. “First question: what movie have you watched _at least_ thirteen times?” 

“What?”

“Everyone has one,” Lance says. “Mine is Austin Powers.”

“I didn’t expect anything less.” He pauses. “Avatar? I guess?”

Lance’s nose wrinkles. “Dude. No. Your turn.”

Keith offers a loose shrugs. “I don’t know… what’s your… your favorite fun fact?”

“Banging your head against a wall for an hour burns 150 calories.”

“What the fuck?”

“Cool, right? How about you?”

Keith squints when he thinks, Lance notes. “Buzz Aldrin was the first man to piss on the moon.”

“Beautiful,” Lance says.

Keith nods. “Totally.”

“What were you like… super into when you were little but now you think is dumb?”

Keith doesn’t have to stop for a second. “Aliens building the pyramids.”

“You were one those people?” Lance snorts.

“Still am,” Keith says with an edge. “Just not concerning the pyramids.”

Lance throws his hands up in the defensive position. “Okay, okay. Mine was vampires.”

“You had a Twilight phase,” Keith says.

“I neither confirm or deny.”

“And you tried to judge _me_.”

Lance laughs and fixes his eyes on his desk. He can see the imprints of many pieces of gum from the distant past. “I don’t need the aliens to do that.”

Keith sets his jaw and rolls his eyes. As far as picking and choosing battles is concerned, Keith is doing well with leaving them all alone. “How many bones have you broken?”

“My pinky toe. One time.”

“Living life on the edge, huh?”

“That end table didn’t see it coming,” Lance says. “You?”

“20,” Keith says.

“Keith!” Lance squawks. “How?”

“Reckless.”

“That’s all I get?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” Lance drums his fingers on his thigh. “Where were you today?”

“That isn’t a 21 questions kind of question,” Keith says.

“Answer it,” Lance says.

“Had an appointment. Is that okay with you?”

“Considering I had to do enough work for the two of us in Chem? No,” Lance responds.

“If you’re expecting me to apologize, you can forget it,” Keith says. “I was busy.” 

Lance twists around to face forward. “Whatever.”

For a fraction of a second, Lance can feel Keith’s eyes on him, but they’re gone in an instant. 

They’re only left to suffer through a few more torturous minutes of silence before an instructor stands behind the desk in the front of the room.

“Have a good weekend, everyone,” he says as a form of dismissal before falling heavily back into his seat. It cries under his weight. 

Keith is on his feet before the words are fully out of his mouth, grabbing his backpack and tearing a path straight to the door. Lance is left staring after him.

When he pushes himself upright, his fingertips graze something that Lance immediately recognizes as the coat Keith came in wearing. Sighing, Lance picks it up, shoves it in his backpack, and takes off after Keith in a fruitless chase. Just like the day before, he’s gone.

Lance finds himself roaming vacant hallways again until he runs right into a concerned looking Hunk who steadies him gently. His hands linger on Lance’s shoulders and he looks like he wants to ask multiple questions but decides against them all. Bless him.

“119 minutes later and you survived!” Hunk cheers.

“Yeah, ‘course,” Lance says.

“How was it?” Hunk says, taking Lance’s backpack from his hand and slinging it over his own shoulder. 

“I…” Lance shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

“I think I’m gonna need you to explain.”

“Let’s get a milkshake first?” Lance asks.

“Lance,” Hunk begins,” I don’t think I’ve ever told you this, so note the time and date, but you have the best ideas.”

Lance snorts. “And don’t you forget it. Let’s get outta here.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always kudos and comments are the nicest thing you could possibly do for me! I appreciate all the support you all have lended it means the world. Head on over the redpaladiins.tumblr.com to chat sometime!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance is forced to see that Keith is not as bad as he's made him out to be. This results in a whole new world of problems that Lance never dreamed of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! I'm BACK. I'm very sorry for my extended absence. Since the last time I posted I've had to deal with 3 family deaths, some issues with my job, and managing my time with starting school again. If this chapter reads a little differently, I apologize. I'm trying to get back in the swing of things and I just wanted to get this update out as soon as I got my writing mojo back. I hope you enjoy it anyway! Hope everyone had a safe and wonderful holiday season.
> 
> ALSO I made my Voltron blog my main blog @ redpaladiins.tumblr.com so come hang out with me sometime.

 

The walk to the ice cream parlor is pretty short, but in the biting cold it feels endless. To occupy himself from complaining about freezing hands, toes, and balls, which he’s sure Hunk doesn’t care to hear about, he kicks stones.

“Oh!” Lance says as his newest target sores through open air. “New high score!” His hands fly up. Hunk shakes his head, solemn.

“10 feet tops.”

“What?!” Lance shrieks. “Do you have eyes? That was at least 60.” His arms fall from above his head and cross over his chest in defiance.

“Sure,” Hunk allows, “before it ricocheted off a tree. That cost you a solid 15 feet.”

Lance’s brows knit. “What about the other 35?”

“You hit a cat, Lance. That’s the worst possible offense. 35 point deduction automatically.”

“Convenient, that,” Lance says. “Does it help if I apologize?”

“The damage is done.”

Rolling his eyes, Lance drops it in his best interest. “Does Keith pay you to be an asshole to me when he can’t? Is that what this is?”

“What? No. He’s offering payments?” 

Lance glares. Hunk laughs. 

“Still haven’t learned he’s not that bad of a guy?” Hunk questions.

“I can’t learn something that isn’t true! Hunk!” Lance kicks a new rock that skids directly into a street grate. “When are you gonna give up?”

Hunk hits Lance with a strong side eye. “Well, what did he do today?”

Lance stops. He scuffs his shoe against the concrete because there’s nothing there to kick. His brows knit, his gaze falls, and his mouth twists. He mutters something unintelligible. 

“Huh?”

“I don’t know!” Lance cries. A flock of birds leave the scene in a frenzy and a kid from school stops in his tracks to peer across the street at them. Hunk waves cordially. The kid nods and continues on his journey through downtown. “I don’t know. He’s just…”

“Just?”

Lance glares. The tips of his ears warm.

“You don’t know,” Hunk offers.

Again, Lance scuffs the toe of his shoe on the ground.

Their walk to the parlor is put on pause as Hunk directs Lance towards the nearest street corner. Lance falls into a seated position on the curb and Hunk winces at how hard Lance lands. He pretends not to feel it.

“I tried,” Lance says, palm covering his mouth. Hunk leans in to hear him. “He doesn’t want a friend, dude.”

“Every human being on this planet wants a friend, Lance.”

“You’re making a real jump there,” Lance says, “assuming he’s human.”

Hunk arches a brow and rubs his forehead but leaves the statement where it lies. “So it was that bad?”

Lance chews on his cheek. “Not the whole time. I got him to play hangman with me.”

Hunk looks like he might fall over from shock.

“And 20 Questions. After much persistence on my part.”

“ _You?_ ”

“I _told you_ I tried.”

“So you got him to play and then?”

“Nothing.”

“I-“

“Like nothing. Nada. Clammed up. Locked down. Literally ran away. I asked where he was today. He wouldn’t answer and that’s bullshit.”

“I’m sure he has a good reason,” Hunk offers.

Lance snorts. “He just needs time to come up with it. Look, I tried to do what you and Pidge told me to, right?”

Hunk sighs but nods.

“Right. So, on Monday I’m going to give him his stupid coat back and never talk to him again. You guys have henceforth lost all rights to ever even so much as think of me being friendly towards him. Game over.”

“His-? You have his coat?”

“Yeah,” Lance reaches around to yank the crumpled ball of leather out of his overfilled backpack. He holds it at a distance by fingertips that struggle with the weight. “He skedaddled so fast he left it behind.”

“It was nice of you to get it for him,” Hunk says after some time.

Lance’s face curdles at the suggestion he did Keith a favor. “You’re reading too far into it.” He shoves the coat back into his bag secretly hoping he ruins the fabric. “Maybe I’ll just keep it for myself.”

“I think if anyone saw you wearing it, I wouldn’t be the only one ‘reading too far into it.’”

Lance squints as he processes the accusations being thrown at him. Suddenly he gags. “This is not a boyfriend jacket.”

Hunk outright laughs. It’s loud and boisterous. Normally it’s infectious, too, but this is no laughing matter. “Might want to return it then.”

When his cheeks flood with warmth, Lance scurries onto his feet and slings his backpack over his shoulder with enough force to send himself hurdling towards the street. Hunk catches him by the hand and reels him back in.

“How much longer is this semester?”

“Three months.”

Lance presses his lips in a firm line, a contemplative look sharpening the angles on his face as they proceed enroute to the ice cream parlor.

“Do you— do you have gas or something?” Hunk asks, visibly concerned.

Lance’s face softens and he can’t help but laugh. “No, dude.” His elbow jabs into Hunk’s side. “How easy would it be to skip the country by Monday morning?”

Hunk hums. “Hows much money do you have?”

“A two dollar bill and a quarter from 1957.”

Hunk’s head tilts. “Is that extra valuable or something?”

“Nah,” Lance says shoving his hands in his pockets. “But it sounds impressive.”

“You’re probably going to have a difficult time in that case.”

“Shit.”

“Sorry, man.”

The loud chatter in the parlor cuts off any thought Lance had when Hunk opens the door and 5 cones push any thought of Keith right out of his head. It’s a mercifully nice night after that. 

 

Keith’s coat is hanging on the back of Lance’s bedroom door and it’s an eyesore. A serene space is essential for being in a good headspace as far as Lance is concerned and the rough red leather is the opposite of serene. Up close it smells like stale cigarette smoke and it’s actually the color of red brick and just as dirty. Apparently Keith has never heard of hair cuts or dry cleaning. 

Every time Lance catches the smallest glimpse of the intruder in his bedroom, he gets a small headache. He blames them on memories of its horrendous and, quite frankly, terrible owner. So, as to not completely ruin his weekend, he avoids it as best he can. 

On Saturday morning he helps his mother clean the house and garage and during the afternoon he does lawn work with his dad. Instead of going in his own home to take a shower, he barge’s down the street and barrels through Pidge’s front door with no warning and uses her shower instead.

This was a critical error that revealed itself in slow motion. 

When Lance turns the water off, he’s fine. The situation is still well within his control and he exists in a state of blissful ignorance. Reaching for a towel that isn’t there begins the unraveling process. When his eyes rake the bathroom floor to find the clean clothes he didn’t pack, alarms sound in his head. Even the clothes he came in with seem to have made a great escape. Lance can see the shadow of someone leaning against the bathroom door, and their joyful whistling gives them away in an instant.

Pidge. The world’s worst friend and least merciful God.

Lance stares at the door. Pidge takes the silence as an opportunity to speak. “Enjoy your shower?”

“Yeah, uh, about that. I might? Need a favor?”

Pidge hums. He imagines her tapping her finger on her chin. “Favors come at a cost.”

Lance thuds his head against the wall and it elicits a laugh from the other side of the door. No one enjoys being at Pidge’s mercy, least of all Lance. She is proficient at landing him in trouble regularly. 

A bad gut feeling tells him this won’t be any different.

“What? Do you want me to cook for you? Clean your room? Do your homework?

Pidge scoffs. “Lance, I like the idea of graduating when I’m supposed to. Why would I ever let you do my homework?”

“You’re right. That’s not nearly cruel enough.”

“I just want to play a game.”

“I’d like to remind you that last time I agreed to one of your games I kicked a bathroom stall in and made Keith my mortal enemy.”

Laughter fills the otherwise empty house. “And that’s great, but I like to believe your unbearable personality made him your enemy. That was just the beginning to this series of crashing and burning. Do you want help or not? You do realize we only have one bathroom, so someone is going to have to come in there eventually. Do you really want that, Lance? Do you?”

“Fine!” Lance sighs. Knowing it’s going to be a long afternoon, he sits in the tub and props his chin on the edge. “What are we playing?”

“Invasive 20 Questions.”

Pidge hears Lance sigh and this only brings the laughter back. There is no pity in this level of Hell.

“First we’re auctioning off a shirt for the low, low price of telling me why you’re here.”

“Can a man not visit his friend’s bathroom without being judged?”

“Every time you lie I’m going to cut a hole out of some unsavory places in these clothes.”

“That’s not part of 20 Questions.”

“I make the rules here.”

“When don’t you?”

“Answer the question," she singsongs and clicks the blade of her scissors together for empasis' sake.

Lance claws ar his face. “I don’t know, alright? I’m having to hold onto Keith’s coat over the weekend and it makes me nauseas to look at.”

After a beat of silence the door cracks open and a shirt is flung inside. His right nipple doesn’t get the luxury of cover, but it’s a small price to pay.

“I don’t believe that it makes you nauseated,” Pidge says once the door is closed again. “I’m just feeling kind.”

Lance mutters his thanks. “Next question?”

“Here I have a lovely sock. You can’t see it because well, you know. But trust me, it’s great. And it could be yours if you just tell me how it actually makes you feel.”

“Bad.” Lance says. Pidge doesn’t acknowledge the answer, so he continues, “I don’t know. Like something dirty that I need off my hands, I guess. I just don’t like having it in my company. Spending 5 hours with him through the week it bad enough; I don’t need a part of him to have and hold over the weekend. My room is the Keith free zone.”

“You realize that’s silly." She tosses him the sock. It is not remotely cool or great.

“You don’t know this level of dislike. It makes a man do things. Strange things."

“I do,” Pidge corrects him, "and everything you do is strange. Anyway, clothing never made me that uncomfortable. Are you sure you aren’t just ansty? Nervous?”

“Is that the next question?”

“Sure.”

“Nervous, no. Filled with dread, yes.”

Pidge considers the answer and then both of his feet are clothed.

“List five reasons why Keith the scum of the Earth.”

“I-“

“This one’s for the grand prize,” she says.

“Pants?”

“Bingo.”

Suddenly Lance feels like he’s in the limelight. Their terrible history has led him to this moment and it’s time to put his money where his pants are.

Except he draws a massive blank. Scrambling for answers to a theory he’s dwelled on for over a month suddenly makes him doubt himself.

“He skipped school on Friday and made me do our assignment on my own,” he says like it’s damning evidence. 

“Okay,” is the underwhelming response. 

“He landed us in detention.”

“That was your fault. You landed him in detention, but I applaud you for the effort. Four more reasons, buddy.”

“He called me dense. That’s no lie; Hunk heard all about it.”

“We all did. For days.”

“Three more…” Lance says to himself and Pidge confirms his count.

“He doesn’t acknowledge me when I talk to him.”

“A weak point, but I guess I can accept it.”

Lance chews on his lip, scratches his head, paces the tub, and recalls every encounter he’d ever had with Keith. He figures this will help him regurgitate his hatred just like he’s done 1,000 times before, but there’s nothing.

“Lance?”

“I’m thinking.”

“Don’t hurt yourself in there,” Pidge says but otherwise lets him have his contemplative silence.

“Can I phone a friend?”

Pidge makes a noise of indifference. The door creaks open and his phone slides across clean tile.

He combs through texts he’d sent to Hunk throughout the last month and still he comes up short. In nearly all of them he’d been angry with Keith, but they all consisted of the same song and dance. When he switches over to the thread of messages sent between himself and Pidge, he finds even less worth noting.

Suddenly, he feels silly. Not because he’s hiding from a jacket and not because he’s sitting in his friend’s bathroom damn near nude and bartering for clothes. He just feels silly in general, because life made a fool of him and he made an ass of himself in turn.

Lance groans.

“Mercy?” Pidge asks. He can hear her shuffling to her feet.

“Yeah,” Lance replies. “Yeah, I got nothing.”

A pair of pants crash land on top of the toilet. “Great,” she says. The door clatters shut. 

 

When Lance finally flings the bathroom door open to embrace freedom once again, he’s met by Pidge’s brother on the other side.

“Lance,” Matt says and clears his throat making sure not to look at Lance’s cut up shirt or his jeans that barely qualify as capris. 

“Matt,” Lance nods in his direction. The encounter is awkward, but Matt mercifully ends it with the first out he can find. 

“I was actually going to make some dinner, you want anything?”

“Pass,” he says. “Thanks, though.”

Matt passes on further conversation, nods, and keeps walking with his head down. From somewhere in the house, Pidge cackles.

Lance’s first instinct is to immediately seek her out and murder her, but his common sense reminds him that he does not want to arrive in prison wearing his current attire. So, he passes on the opportunity and ducks out of the Holt residence without even so much as a goodbye.

When he slams the front door shut, Pidge pops out of her bedroom window. “Gone so soon?” She asks.

“We’re going to fight in the school parking lot,” Lance says. “I’m giving you time to prepare.”

A smirk pulls at her lips. “I don’t think I’m the one who needs time. See ya Monday.” The glass slams closed before Lance can get a word in edgewise and that’s just as well.

 

Lance is head to metaphorical head with the coat on Sunday night.

“I hate you,” Lance says. It garners no response. “I do,” he spits. This time he points at it and grits his teeth. “I don’t know why.”

He can hear Keith’s voice in his head telling him he doesn’t care or to fuck off. Lance continues. “You’re annoying. We can’t be friends, obviously, but I can probably try harder to tolerate you.” He pauses, mouth drooping at the sides. “Don’t hold me to that.”

He chews on the inside of his cheek as his fingertips graze worn leather. Gritty sand and dirt come back with his hand and he wrinkles his nose. “But first you need a bath.”

After multiple google searches and a tour around his kitchen, Lance returns to hole himself in his room with three clean towels and a cup of diluted dish soap. Now, instead of being on hooks, the coat is spread across his floor and Lance takes his time to clean every speck of grunge off the leather. 

It takes a few hours of laborious scrubbing, wiping away, and drying but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t proud of his handiwork. Some small part of him almost, kind of hopes Keith may appreciate the gesture too. The rational part of him knows that there isn’t a snowball’s chance in Hell that Keith will ever react kindly to anything Lance has done.

As Lance rehangs the coat, the bundle of nerves in his stomach explode and a pressing feeling of foreboding spreads through his chest. He doesn’t sleep well. Not by a long-shot.

 

Hunk calls at 6:30 in the morning which is far too early for anyone to be conscious and functioning.

Lance answers but doesn’t speak. It’s not necessary.

“You want breakfast?” Hunk asks. Lance watches as Hunk buzzes around his kitchen preparing breakfast and lunch for the both of them. There has never been a time when Lance considered saying no to breakfast, but Hunk always calls to ask anyway.

Though his stomach is still tight, Lance nods. “Totally.”

“Figured,” Hunk cracks a smile. “See you in an hour.”

Lance groans, flips over in his bed, and hears Hunk crank up the radio station he’s listening to before ending the call.

 

Hunk had decided on pancakes for breakfast, but because they were hard to eat on the go, Lance receives a pancake log when he meets Hunk downstairs. Lance knows that he looks worse for ware. His hair is combed haphazardly and his skin is dull, cursed with dark under eye bags and micro blackheads that he didn’t have time to conceal. Hunk’s smile falters but he perks back up so quickly it’s hardly noticed.

“So, I see you’re carrying the coat today,” Hunk notes as Lance locks his front door and they walk to school at a leisurely pace.

Lance is not going to tell Hunk he’d just washed it and didn’t want to ruin his handiwork. Instead, he tells a secondary truth. “Keith would punch me in the nose if he saw me wad this old thing up.”

Hunk considers it and nods slowly because he doesn’t like talking with his mouth full. “Smart.”

“Obviously?” Lance counters. “Why does this surprise everyone?”

Hunk laughs and the corners of his eyes crinkle which puts Lance just a little more at ease. 

 

The minute they step on school grounds the nosey questions begin. This is no surprise, but still makes Lance want to smash his head against the nearest wall.

Peers notice the coat before they notice who’s holding it. It’s a staple item that Keith is rarely seen without, and Lance knew it would be recognized. Even on 104 degree days, the coat will normally be somewhere on his person. To see Lance with it is strange and the looks he receives reflect that. 

He loses count of the number of times he’s repeated the phrase, “it’s not what it looks like,” before first block begins. What really sucks is knowing the worst has yet to come. 

 

Everyone recognizes the bright red coat cradled in Lance’s arms and Keith is no exception. As soon as Lance steps over the threshold that separates the chemistry classroom from the hallway, Keith is on his feet. His chair is kicked over and though there isn’t much of an audience in the room, it catches everyone’s attention.

Keith wastes no time in making his way over, and Lance prepares himself for being the star of the newest episode of WWE Smackdown. 

“You have it,” Keith breathes, and it’s the least angry Lance has ever seen him. He seems overwhelmed and almost as compromised as he was when they had first met, but there aren’t any tears. When he reaches for it he cocks his head and stops. “You… washed it?”

The skin on his forehead bunches and his eyes crest into a harsh squint. It’s an undeniable look of sheer confusion.

“I had some extra time on my hands.” Lance hefts the weight of the coat into Keith’s waiting arms and makes a show of stretching afterwards to occupy his hands. “No biggie.”

Keith still looks like he’s the victim of an elaborate prank when he meets Lance’s eyes. For a moment they’re in their own world, and Lance feels unsafely vulnerable. Thankfully, it ends when Keith breaks eye contact. “You’ll probably never hear me say this again,” Keith mumbles, “but thanks, Lance.”

Lance has to swallow hard. He feels his throat bob but no words come to mind that carry any weight at all. 

“It’s chill,” he says, finally.

Keith nods as if that was sufficient and he rights the chair he’d knocked over. Before he can sit, Lance stops him. “Hey.”

Keith acknowledges him with trepidation and slight curiosity. By this point everyone in the classroom has all but lost interest in them. If there is no fight resulting in bloodshed, high schoolers tend not to care all that much. 

“I- uh.” Lance pulls back his own chair and keeps his eyes strictly on it. “Sorry for prying, y’know, when I asked where you were on Friday. And sorry for,” he takes a steadying breath, “for everything else? I guess? We aren’t friends. I know that. But I haven’t been, uh, fair. To you. So… sorry.”

Keith takes his time to absorb the word vomit thrust upon him, but he nods when he's ready. “No biggie,” he parrots.

Lance breathes a small sigh of relief through his nose and collects his broken pride as he sits. His ribcage suddenly feels two sizes too small. “Cool.”

Keith nods and mindlessly strokes the coat with a featherlight touch while waiting for the bell. His eyes lock on the window and Lance finds that his gaze is stuck on Keith.

As Lance watches the repetitive motion, the unrelenting weight in his chest subsides, but the nerves battering his stomach remain. They're different somehow. Unlike before, they feel less like a swarm of cockroaches and more like a kaleidoscope of butterflies. 

_Houston_ , Lance thinks _, we have a huge fucking problem._  

**Author's Note:**

> If you'd like to talk to me you can kind my Voltron blog @ redpaladiins.tumblr.com. Kudos and comments also warm my heart.  
> Also as a side note with the holidays being upon us and me working in retail i'm not sure how quickly I can hammer out chapters but GOSH DARNIT I'm gonna try my best.


End file.
